More Than an Award

(Makeup for 23 December)

                A few days ago a friend of mine asked me a few questions because she was worried about her teenage son, who can be quite a moron at times, especially for his parents.  She said, “I know he’s a good kid, but sometimes that isn't going to cut it. When will he ‘get it’ that he has to put forth effort if he wants to get anywhere in life?”  I hope I was able to assuage her fears that he will become a listless leech on society.  (He really is a good kid.)

                That conversation reminded me of a certain someone else (betcha can’t guess) who as a teenager didn't like to be nagged by his parents.  But in retrospect, it took that nagging to reach a point where I finally “got it.”

                Living in England, I was fairly active in my Boy Scout troop, but I had lost the drive to move on.  I was a Life Scout, I had 21 merit badges, including all the required ones for Eagle; all I had left to do was my Eagle Scout project, and I would belong to that prestigious group who had attained this high honor.  However, like my one of my friends says, I was overcome by the fumes: car fumes and perfumes.  My interests changed.  I was more into music, my friends (especially the female variety), writing, and video games.  Scouts began to take a back seat.

                And that’s where I was when this story happened: the back seat of my dad’s car.  I believe it was a Thursday afternoon.  We were driving around RAF Mildenhall on a few errands.  I had just retrieved the mail and was immersing myself in my new Baseball Cards magazine when he started in again. “When are you going to start planning a project?”

In my mind, this was about the seventy-second or seventy-third time Dad had asked a similar question within the past week.  I ignored the query, trying to stay calm.

“You know, you’ll have to you’ll need to get permissions and equipment and manpower and….”

I tuned out, staring out the window.

When I came back around to hearing him, we had pulled up to a four-way stop.  He was back to “When are you going to get started?”

And I, in all my teenage self-centered “wisdom,” had had enough.  I opened the door and slammed it.  “Right now.  Pick me up in an hour at the Exchange.”  I stormed across the street without waiting for a reply.

I didn't really know where I was going or what to do, but in that flash of anger I had headed toward the Base Maintenance building.  And as I looked at the directory inside the front doors, I realized that it was up to me.  Everything I wanted to accomplish in life had to be done by me.  I couldn't rely on Dad or Mom or anyone else to make my life for me.

I ducked into a restroom and straightened up my appearance before I asked the receptionist to see the commanding officer.  I sat on a green fake leather couch and listened to the click-clack of typewriters and computers.  The smell of tobacco hung in the air.  Within ten minutes I was ushered into a small, cramped office where a heavy-set man with a military crew cut and black standard issue glasses sat poring over tomes.

He looked up, beyond his spectacles, snubbed out his cigarette, and grumbled, “What can I do for you, son?”

“My name is Joseph Anson, and I’m an Eagle Scout candidate looking for a large service project to benefit the community, sir.”

He smiled, shook my hand, and turned his huge green binder toward me.  “Take your pick, son.”  And that began the conversation that ended the next Friday after (180+) hours of planning, scheduling, coordinating, pestering (on my part), laboring, and sweating.  I don’t remember Dad being around—I think he was on a deployment somewhere. Mom only helped with the shuttling of workers (the friends I had drafted) and supplies.  Everything else was me.  I even went in to Dad’s work while he was away to use the satellite phone to have a teleconference with the Scouting officials stationed in Germany to accelerate the paperwork process.

Sure, it sounds cheesy, but this experience was a figurative smack upside the head, one that no one else’s lecture or prodding or anything could provide.  It was one moment in life where I “got it.”  The future didn't seem too intimidating or scary.  I just needed to take one step at a time.  Most importantly, though, I had to be the one to take the step.  That happened in April or May.  Then we moved in June, so I wasn't awarded the Eagle until October when all the paperwork caught up to us in Illinois.  But it didn't matter anymore.  I had accomplished something worthwhile on my own.

Looking back, the pressures and influences and everything else my parents, relatives, teachers, religious leaders, and other influential adults in my life may have bothered me at the time, but they were a necessary ingredient in my seasoning as a human being who looks to contribute to this world.  I hope I will be the same type of pain in the butt for my own kids.